


A Three Months Deadline

by LiliGrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Draco was an oblivious idiot, Fluff, HE so don't worry, Harry was prophecied to die again, M/M, Rated M for language and potential scenes, Slow Burn, Theo was a git, Voldemort died the first time round, and some angst, as in very slow burn, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:11:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5013064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiliGrey/pseuds/LiliGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had just been told that he had only three months left to live. After deciding that sulking was useless, he drafted a list of all his dreams and wishes. On the very top of this list, was marrying his school crush...</p><p>Draco was separated from his boyfriend of ten years, Theodore, and about to be forced into an arranged marriage by his father, with seemingly no way out. His knight in shining armour came in the form of someone he least expected...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unusual Business Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Heeellooo readers. This is my first foray into writing in the Harry Potter fandom, and writing long fics. I apologise in advance for being a terribly slow writer, but I will try to update every fortnight or so. Also, I would really appreciate it if someone would like to help me beta this fic, essentially to British English proof and Harry Potter proof it, as I’m not very consistent with the spelling sometimes and only read the series twice.
> 
> Don’t want to keep you from the fic! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I had writing it :D
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything in the Harry Potter world belongs to J.K.Rowling

Narcissa Malfoy eased open the door to her son's room, or rather, the room her stubbornly rebelling son was grounded in by his furious father.

 

"Draco." She sighed, knowing her answer already just looking at the way her son was holding himself whilst he seemed engrossed in the book in his lap. Anyone not knowing Draco as well as she did would have thought him completely relaxed, enjoying a quiet afternoon with a nice read, but she knew better. The way his jaw was held in silent defiance, how his poise showed contempt, but most of all, the way his bottom lip protruded slightly, showing that he planned to be just as stubborn as his father on the issue if not more so.

 

"You can tell father that I have no intention whatsoever of replacing Theo with some wonderfully well-bred pure-blood witch, least of all because they are witches." Draco said in an even tone, without breaking stride in the middle, as if it was a well remembered verse.

 

When Narcissa didn't answer for long minutes and showed no intention of leaving, he finally looked up at his mother. He blinked once, then arched a graceful brow.

 

"Ah." He mused but did not elaborate. "I am assuming father would like to see me in his study?"

 

"The west parlour, actually." Narcissa replied, earning her another eyebrow raise, she then opened the door further to allow her son through.

 

Seven years after he graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and now growing out to be a dashing young man, Draco Malfoy still kept many traits from his school years, such as his arrogant demeanor. Such as the boyfriend that his father did not approve of.

 

The real problem here was not that Theo is a wizard, which was a problem in the eyes of his father of course, but most of the wizarding community was quite open minded and accepting of such relationships. It was not even the fact that it would make him unlikely to produce a legitimate Malfoy heir, as there were many illegitimate ways of getting around that. It was simply because the Malfoy family was broke, same as many other pure blood families after the end of the Wizarding War, when Lord Voldemort was vanquished on the night of his mysterious encounter with the Potters. Said other pure blood families also happen to include the Notts, as Theo's father was a Death Eater, along with his father, Lucius Malfoy.

 

After the seizure of many family properties and investments, and endless bribery and charity donations, the Malfoy family escaped Azkaban with its reputation somewhat intact, although suffering a significant dent in their Gringotts account. This all happened before Draco could remember of course, but the situation deteriorated in recent years due to the collapse of the Wizarding economy.

 

And now his father wanted him to marry into the pure blood families that did not suffer as badly from the war due to their neutral standing, so that the Malfoys don't have to survive on their emergency funds, of bloody course.

 

He mused furiously as he walked briskly behind his mother, legs slightly shaky due to his recent imprisonment in his own rooms, though he schooled his features to betray no emotions at all, not even the confusion that his father chose to meet in the west parlour, where the Malfoys treated private guests and sometimes arranged less official business arrangements. Though his efforts were somewhat ruined when he walked into the parlour and promptly froze in shock.

 

Sitting opposite his father, dressed in formal robes of a shade of deep green that brought out his eyes brilliantly and looking entirely too comfortable inside the grand room, was the last person Draco expected to see at the Manor right now.

 

"Ah, Draco, glad you could join us. I am sure you remember Auror Potter, who went to school with you, and in the same year as well, I believe." Lucius said in way of introduction.

 

Draco made no move to shake the outward stretched hand of his school nemesis, whom he had only met in passing for the past seven years and had less than pleasant feelings about. The atmosphere in the room became slightly awkward, but Draco ignored the death glare and the reproachful look his father and mother sent him, focusing his attention on Potter instead. Whatever the Auror was doing here, it was sure to be nothing good.

 

Potter gave a slight shrug as he withdrew his right hand, looking unperturbed by Draco's hostility, which served to make him just that more annoyed, exactly like in their school days.

 

"Well, now that all interested parties are here, take a seat Draco, and we can discuss the business that brought Auror Potter here." Lucius looked at his son sharply, as if promising a serious lecturing after this is over. Draco ignored his silent warning and made his way to sit across from Potter, his curiosity getting the better of him.

 

////////

 

"No, absolutely not." Draco forced out from gritted teeth. His anger had been mounting the moment Potter started speaking, in that arrogant way of his, as if he expected everyone to see his words as the paramount of truth and reason, just like the way his parents were nodding along. He uncrossed his legs and stood up in one fluid movement, striding towards the door, body shaking with fury. But his father moved quicker.

 

"If you step out of this door..." Lucius' eyes glinted dangerously, his voice shaking with barely suppressed anger. Draco would have backed down a month ago, probably even a week ago, but he couldn't care less now.

 

"If this is the fucking alternative, then I would choose to be locked in my room for the rest of my bloody life!" He shouted back. Fuck guests and fuck Potter.

 

"Enough!" Both men turned to stare, breathing heavily, as the matriarch of the Malfoy family spoke up. Narcissa had a scowl on her face as she eyed the two grown men, her gaze alone scolding them like misbehaved children.

 

Satisfied with their stunned silence, she gave a curt nod and turned to their guest. "Mr. Potter, I sincerely appologise for the lack of manners of my husband and son. It has been a trying week for us all. I am sure this is a matter you would prefer to discuss in more detail with Draco, alone.”

 

Potter gave a slightly uncertain nod.

 

“ _And_ ,” here she turned to her husband, who had just opened his mouth to retort, "Lucius, why don't you accompany me on a stroll in the gardens, for it is such nice weather, and leave the boys to it." It wasn’t made out to be a question.

 

The staring contest lasted for a few tense seconds, until Narcissa simply walked towards the doorway and held out her arm, her whole posture an image of elegant arrogance. Lucius took it reluctantly, and was quickly ushered out of the room.

 

The door clicked closed and dead silence reined the room.

 

“Erm, Draco, um, I, uh,” Potter cleared his throat, and that was all it took to set Draco off again, this time with no intimidating mother to censor his fury.

 

“Don’t you dare _Draco_ me.” He snapped, rounding on the gob smacked auror.

 

“Wait, wait,” Potter held up his hands as if fending off a physical attack, “just, just hear me out…”

 

“Oh, you mean hearing out your brilliant plans to humiliate me and my family?” His voice took on a slightly maniacal tone as all the pent up frustration of the preceding week rushed out of him.

 

“You might have fooled my parents back there but you expect me to believe all that bullshit? Let me think, what was it? Oh yes, “I have had deep feelings for Draco since school but did not realize it as what it was at the time”, and that one, “I had kept abreast of news of him in recent years and believed him to be happier without me”, which you are quite correct in assuming, and my _very_ favourite, “I would like to ask for his hand in marriage in exchange for the entirety of the Black fortunes and half of the Potter investments”. What do you think I am, _buying my hand in marriage_ , some kind of high-end prostitute for your little Potty Coming Out Party?” He all but shouted the last sentence, and for the first time since his father confiscated his wand, he really missed having it because he desperately needed to hex someone.

 

Potter had the grace to look sheepish as he cowered before him, hands still held up high. “Okay, okay. I know that probably made me sound like a dick. Look, if it helps, Pansy sends her greetings.”

 

Draco simply stared at him, certain that he was hearing things now. “Pansy? You’ve been talking to Pansy Parkinson?” He was too shocked by the bizarreness of the situation now that that was the only thing he could think of.

 

“Not so much as talking, more like she just forced her presence upon me when Hermione came visiting the other day, but that’s beside the point.” Potter replied drily. “And for your reference, I came out two years ago around the time of the Prophet scandal so no one paid much attention.”

 

Potter gave a tentative smile and shrugged, relaxing his defensive posture. “Look, why don’t we sit down.” He gestured, as Draco was still incapable of doing anything but stare at him for the moment.

 

Draco sniffed but did as suggested, still unsure what to make of this turn of events. Pansy was someone he trusted, a friend whom he knew would think in his best interests. And if she, for whatever convoluted reason sent Potter here, then he can count on this to be part of her unorthodox plans to help him, although they’d better be really good plans.

 

He sat down stiffly in the chair he vacated earlier, across from Potter, crossing his arms protectively and tilting his chin up in that universal gesture of “well, talk then.”

 

Potter sank down into the armchair with obvious relief. Now, looking back on it, he could see all those finishing touches Pansy must have made to prepare Potter for this formal meeting; how Potter seemed uncomfortable in his, no doubt new, formal robes, and how stiff he seemed during the meeting with his parents earlier.

 

Clearing his throat twice and musing up his ridiculous hair, Potter began eloquently. "Right." He got a quirked eyebrow for his efforts.

 

Heaving a sigh of defeat, as if lost to some inner struggle, he tried again, "Have you heard of the recent case with the Prophet?"

 

"If you mean the Daily Prophet..."

 

"No," Potter waved his hand with distaste on his face, as if swatting a fly, "the Auror case, the one about the rogue Seer who kept on predicting gruesome deaths of important people and having them all come true so far."

 

"Let me guess, prophesying about The-Boy-Who-Lived is just so irresistible that he decided to predict your heroic passing, too?" Draco drawled, the insults from his school days coming back easily, although his smirk quickly disappeared when Potter only gave him a deep meaningful look.

 

"Oh."

 

"She." Potter continued as if not interrupted. "As I was saying, this Seer finally got herself into trouble when she predicted that the leader of the smuggling ring we've been investigating for almost two years, would die "with his body and soul shredded to pieces". She got abducted and we were sent on a rescue mission." Draco could see where this was going already.

 

"Turns out they are smuggling more than just magical creatures and illegal potion ingredients. We found a safe house with a dozen or so magical children inside, all orphans or squibs. And a ship of unknown cargo they were unloading." Here, Potter drew a deep breath, as if reliving a terrible memory. “Anyway, the details are not important. Me and Ron, oh, he’s my partner, found the Prophet first, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Well, she made a prophecy about me, as you guessed, and died a few minutes later.” Here he paused a bit, then quirked a dry smile. “I’m her seventh prophecy and her last. My predecessor died when he tried to resist capture on the cargo ship, a curse ricocheted and hit an artifact. Blew him to bits. The aurors after him were too far away and luckily escaped major injury.”

 

A subdued silence filled the room as both men sank into their own thoughts. After a few minutes of processing all this new information, Draco spoke up slowly, picking his words, “This may make me sound like a heartless bastard, but how is any of this related to me?”

 

Potter snorted, “Blunt as always, I see.” then held up a placating hand as Draco glared at him. “Well, unlike some of her more unfortunate victims, I was given a “deadline”. Of three months. And if I’ve calculated correctly, it will be around or on the day of Halloween.”

 

Potter held up his hand more firmly to stop Draco from interrupting, his tone turning business-like this time. “You see, one thing I hadn’t mentioned during that meeting with your parents was that this agreement only lasts three months. After that, I will leave everything to you in my will. And in the case that I don’t die a gruesome death, fingers crossed, you are free to divorce me and take all the Black fortune and Grimmauld Place, which should all have been yours to begin with. Oh, the contract and my will are probably being drafted by Pansy and Hermione as we speak.” He added as an afterthought.

 

Draco blinked. It was a lot to take in for one day and it all seemed too good to be true. He voiced that, “I fail to see how this arrangement benefits you in any way. Apart from cleaning out some storage space from your no doubt full Gringotts account.”

 

Potter leaned back as he easily sank into the role of negotiating. “I don’t see why a Slytherin like you would be complaining about such a good deal.”

 

Now it was Draco’s turn to snort. “Please. My school nemesis just came around visiting and offered gold on a platter. How can I not be suspicious?”

 

They stared at each other until Potter backed down first. “Fine. Be like that.” He agitated his hair some more, and took a deep breath. “If you must know, all the bits that you nicely quoted just now were true.” His voice lowered to a mumble.

 

“The bit about you hating me more than you realized, or the bit about where we’d both be better off not seeing each other for the rest of our lives?” Draco taunted. This was far too amusing.

 

“Ugh, don’t be difficult Draco!” Potter rubbed at his face, which was now starting to turn pink. “I’ve liked you since school, okay? I know it’s a bit hard to believe right now, and trust me, it took me two whole years to figure it out, but well, fuck it.” He looked up defiantly, as if daring Draco to challenge his claim.

 

For the first time since he met Potter, Draco found that he didn’t really want to. He merely raised his eyebrows, “Okay then, if you say so.”

 

“What, just like that?” Potter looked at him in disbelief.

 

He shrugged. “What were you expecting? Me running around screaming? I thought we got past that stage already.” He retorted drily.

 

“Just let me get this whole thing straight first. So you got cursed, or prophesized, whatever, to have three months to live, and you thought that your dying wish would be marrying your school nemesis turned school crush, then leave him a pile of gold and a family property. Correct?”

 

Potter nodded mutely.

 

“Out of this, I have to act along the charade of becoming your husband, before I can get said pile of gold and property.” He prompted and Potter nodded again.

 

“As you mentioned, Pansy and Hermione will be drafting this contract together, so I believe they would have both of our interests in mind, making this effectively a win-win situation. Although I need to confirm your tale with Pansy and we will need to discuss the details of both my obligation and yours. But for the moment, I think we have a deal.”

 

Draco extended his hand and Potter shook it.

 

“Deal.”

 

 


	2. A Candle-lit Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE! This definitely took me longer than I expected and I had way too much fun, but I did sort of finish it in my self-imposed deadline of two weeks :P Quick warning about shameless flirting in this chapter, and I’ll let you all get on to it :)
> 
> //////////

 

“Harry, you look bloody _fantastic_. Now stop priming and get to your date before you are not-so-fashionably late!” Hermione let out a groan of despair as Harry dropped his comb again, for the third time that evening.

 

Harry knew he was being ridiculous, as he had been trying to tame his untamable hair for the past hour or so, which only served to make it even more rebellious than usual. He couldn't help but check his reflection again, for the umpteenth time as he had already lost count. He felt like he had spent more time in front of a mirror today than in the twenty four years preceding it.

 

He never cared much for his appearance. Oh sure, he went through a short period in school where he mused up his hair at the back just like how his dad used to, as Sirius had told him, and pulled the most maniacal dives in Quidditch just to get Cho to look at him. Until he tried to kiss her, that was. She wasn’t bad in any way, just, well, not right, at least not for him. It had taken him a year to figure out that he was actually gay, and two more to realize he had long since fallen in love without ever meaning to in the first place.

 

Love was a strong word. His friends had talked about misled crushes, and Ron had blatantly told him it was an unhealthy obsession that he needed to “get out of his system”. He tried, he really did, and after his fifth “regrettable goodbye”, he realized that he was just trying to find a replacement for Draco. His partners were all blond or witty or elegant or burned with a fierce passion. And once again, just like Cho, they simply weren’t right.

 

Of course, like a good Gryffindor, he had tried the other, more direct approach first. It was not hard to see Draco, as there were always plenty of Ministry events or businesses involving the Malfoys. However, the bad news was that Draco was always accompanied by either his father or his boyfriend. That alone would not have stopped him, Gryffindor to the marrow as Ron had once commented, but it was just that Draco had always seemed so happy and carefree. He just couldn’t disrupt that.

 

And that was when he realized he was _doomed_.

 

“Harry.” Hermione tapped her wand impatiently on his bedroom door frame, red sparks now whizzing out of her wand to show that she was truly annoyed now

 

That snapped him out of his reverie. He ran his hand through his wild hair again and checked his appearance for the umpteenth plus one time, then resolutely turned on his heels and headed towards the door, where his best friend stood with a fierce scowl on her face.

 

“Sorry,” he offered, sheepishly, “you know, it’s just, well. It’s _Draco_.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes but her expressions visibly softened. She had long since gotten used to interpreting her friend’s meanings from his not-quite-sentences, and she knew exactly how important this was to him. She simply held out her arm to Side-Along him to the fancy French restaurant that she and Pansy had booked for him.

 

Harry took her proffered hand with a rueful smile. He had asked her earlier why she couldn’t just give him the Apparation coordinates or Floo address, and she had muttered something about Splinching himself from pure nerves and getting his hundred galleon robes dirty, but he knew genuine concern when he sees it. He couldn’t ask for better friends.

 

//////////

 

Draco looked stunning.

 

Grey silver robes so pale they looked almost white as they billowed around his calves when he stood up from the lounge room couch he had been sitting on, the colour bringing out his eyes brilliantly. Darker trousers fitted snugly, outlining the elegant stretch of his legs. The whole attire made him look so untouchable that Harry felt like he was back in seventh year all over again, wanting after something he could never have.

 

"Are we going to dine in this wonderful restaurant that no doubt Pansy and Granger picked for us, or are you just going to stare at me with drool dangling out of your mouth all night?" Draco drawled, a perfect eyebrow arching in disdain.

 

"And a good evening to you, too." Harry said drily and rolled his eyes. Definitely remind him of school now.

 

“You look delicious, by the way.” He _did NOT_ just say that. Horrified, he amended, “No! I mean, stunning, you look stunning!”

 

“Do I now?” Both eyebrows now disappeared behind the white-blond fringe, amusement was written clearly on Draco’s face.

 

Desperate to change the topic, and berating himself for losing the ability to control his tongue, he had never been more grateful in his life when the waitre d’ came to show them to their table. "Shall we?" He quickly held out his arm which Draco took with a smirk.

 

Despite hunting dark wizards as a living, Harry felt butterflies flutter in his stomach at the soft touch of fingertips on his forearm, too light to feel through his formal robes, but the heat that seeped through sent shivers down his body.

 

Just before they settled down in the table the waitre d’ showed them to, Draco suddenly leaned in impossibly close, his whole body now pressed against Harry's side and breathe ghosting over his ear. Harry felt himself froze.

 

"Where were my manners?" Draco murmured softly, "Thank you for taking me out to dinner."

 

He finished in a huff of warm breath that made Harry's whole face flush. Draco's smirk grew wider as he pulled back and sat down gracefully as if that was nothing out of the norm. The evil git.

 

Harry cleared his throat once, twice, and quickly sat down before he made an even bigger fool of himself before dinner even started.

 

Then he had to endure the sweet torture that was listening to Draco ordering his meal in flowing French. He was hardly aware of what he ordered for himself, some sort of fish stew, as he was too busy staring at Draco's lips.

 

The waitre d’ poured them each a decent measure of fine red wine. Before he left, he lit the candles in its fancy floral-patterned holder, shedding a soft flickering light across their table, reflecting off the surface of the ruby red wine.

 

He watched as Draco swirled the liquid in the glass and took a small sip, the wine colouring his lips a darker shade of pink. His mouth went dry.

 

"You do realise that you had given a very powerful weapon to a Slytherin by professing your undying love to me that day, don't you?" Draco bit his lower lip and looked at him from under pale lashes, an elegant finger tracing the stem of his wine glass enticingly. His mirth at Harry's distress shining in quicksilver eyes. Bastard.

 

Two can play this game. Though Harry was having trouble suppressing his arousal at the moment.

 

"Hardly." Harry replied airily, "I think love would be the best excuse to get away with anything I do and say. You'd be surprised at what people can do when they profess that they are "in love". The number of cases the Aurors had to sort through regarding the misplaced concept of love is astounding."

 

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment then commented, "That is incredibly Slytherin of you, when you put it that way." He cocked his head, a lock of white blond hair teasing his left eye, making Harry's fingers itch to brush it away. "Tell me more about the cases."

 

Harry did with great relief.

 

Time passed incredibly fast as Harry described the first case he had done as a newly trained Auror, how he and Ron had been sent to sort out a love triangle where a vicious ex sent constant death threats. They had almost messed it up when things escalated suddenly and they stepped in just in time to stop a duel between the witch's two lovers from turning into murder.

 

At the end of that episode, Ron had commented, "Geez mate, you would think that she's a Veela or something for them to be hurtling around Unforgivables like that. But, I mean, just look at her face." And then they had burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Sometimes he almost forgot how much fun he had on his cases, despite the depressing circumstances they happen in. Almost.

 

They had polished off their starters, asparagus, or at least he thought it was asparagus, in Harry's case, and what looked like a whole liver, " _Foie Gras, Potter_ , surely even you should have know that", in Draco's. And they were now starting on the main.

 

"How is the _Bouillabaisse_? They make the best fish dishes here, from what I've heard."

 

Harry quickly finished his mouthful before replying, "Good, I mean, really good." It was, it was absolutely delicious, but he had hardly paid it much attention because he enjoyed watching Draco eat much more.

 

"Can I try some?" Draco asked innocently.

 

"Sure."

 

He really should have been more suspicious of the sudden politeness though. When he scooped up a morsel of the fish and was lifting it across the table, Draco shifted forward, jutting out his chin and opening his mouth slightly, his intention obvious by the gesture.

 

Harry's spoon paused in mid-air and he swallowed. Not wanting to drop the fish and look like an idiot, he steeled himself to bring the spoon forward a bit more, a tremor building up in his hand.

 

Not taking his eyes off Harry's, Draco opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the fish, tongue darting out to lick the sauce off. Then making a show of closing his eyes to chew, he let out an appreciate moan, the sound shooting directly to Harry's groin.

 

"Mmm. _Delicious._ "

 

Draco opened his eyes slowly, and seemingly not able to hold his amusement anymore, he laughed outright. "Potter, you should see your face!"

 

He laughed so hard that people turned to stare at them despite the privacy charms Harry had cast when Draco wasn't looking. Harry flipped him the finger on the underside of his spoon handle, face properly flushed and definitely getting hard now.

 

"Tut tut, manners Potter." Draco shook his head, still chuckling with a smile lingering on his lips.

 

Looking at that smile, Harry realized he had just made Draco laugh in that carefree way he so loved. He thought that he would endure embarrassment anytime if he could just make Draco smile like that again. _Old sap_. He could almost hear Ron say.

 

“You are never going to let me live that one down, are you?” Harry said, trying, and failing, to hide a smile of his own.

 

“Not on your life! Potter.” Draco gave a small laugh which halted abruptly when he realized what he had just said.

 

Harry waved away Draco’s attempt to apologise. Despite the straightforward way he had put it during their meeting last time, it was still a touchy subject and he didn’t want to talk about all that now, not when they were having such a good time.

 

“So how did your heartfelt reunion with Pansy go yesterday?” He changed the subject, “she was pestering me for hours after I met you at the manor, asking if you’ve “gotten even thinner, the poor darling”, her words, not mine, as if your parents would ever starve _you_.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes and relaxed a bit after his earlier slip. “Well, she declared me “fit to go out in the sun” at least, although I have no idea what she meant by that, so that’s Pansy for you. I am curious though, how _did_ you and Pansy get on speaking terms even?”

 

“Hermione.” Harry said simply, that in itself was the explanation for many things. “Lots of people got drunk after the Ministry Christmas party last year, she and Pansy got talking, and apparently became really close friends at some point after that.” Harry downed the last of his wine then continued. “I’ve only started speaking to Pansy about two weeks ago, when she burst into my house, warded and all mind you, no idea what Unspeakables get up to nowadays, demanding to speak to Hermione about you, and they concocted this convoluted plan right on my living room couch.”

 

“That does sound like Pansy, yeah.” Draco nodded in sympathy.

 

“Well, I confirmed your story with her yesterday, I am a Slytherin after all. She seemed to think that Gryffindors can't lie properly to save their own skin, although I disagree.” Here he paused and looked at Harry, his tone still casual but his posture showed otherwise. “Because I had been adamant that you hated me with a vengeance, until I learned differently three days ago. So tell me Potter, what changed your mind? Or did you just have a very controversial way of showing your feelings?

 

Well, seems like the interview had begun.

 

Harry took a long sip from his newly topped-up glass before he replied, knowing that he needed to be honest about something like this.

 

“Quidditch.” He decided at last. “I think that’s what started it and confirmed things in the end.” He sighed when Draco merely raised a brow, chin propped on crossed fingers, and looked at him expectantly. “Well, it’s a bit hard not to realize you are gay after fit blokes parade in front of you in the changing rooms all the time, especially when you are high on adrenaline after a match.”

 

“As to what changed my mind,” here Harry smirked as he looked over at Draco, “do you still remember the _only_ time you beat me to the snitch?” Draco snorted.

 

“ _Well_ ,” Harry lengthened the word out into a drawl, “it was because I was too busy ogling your arse.” Not technically true, more like he was ogling Draco’s hair and admiring the way it shone in the sunlight. According to Ron and Hermione, he still had a dreamy smile on his face when Draco had caught the snitch, causing them to accuse the Slytherins of Confounding him.

 

“You did not!” Draco spluttered, “And what do you mean by that? I won fair and square that time, Potter!”

 

“Then how do you explain all the _other_ times when I _beat_ _you to the Snitch_?” Now that’s a down-right challenge to a Seeker’s pride, but Harry got his revenge from earlier. He did almost get sorted into Slytherin for a reason.

 

Now it was Draco’s turn to flush, and they entered a heated debate about Quidditch strategy, Gryffindors’ collective death wish when they play, and whether or not Oliver Wood was fit. The topic soon shifted to Quidditch teams they supported and speculations about the next Quidditch World Cup. Dessert came and went, something creamy and tasted like chocolate, _“Because it had chocolate in it, Potter”_. They had polished off the last of their wine and were now heading towards the doors, still in heated discussion. Harry couldn’t believe the night had gone so well, considering the embarrassing start.

 

“Is Granger still supporting Krum? I can’t see that going well with the Weasley.” Draco commented.

 

“No, they are both Holyhead Harpies supporters now, as Ginny is playing. And it’s Granger-Weasley, I’ll let you know.”

 

They had reached the Apparation point, drawing the night to an end. Moonlight shone bright, casting the street into a molten silver, making Draco’s robes glow with an almost angelic light. Harry thought of angels and heaven and dying, and found that he cannot bear to let go, not now that he had everything that he wanted in life.

 

“Well, thank you again, Potter, I’ve had a really good time and…”

 

“Can I kiss you?” Harry blurted, before his brain even registered the thought.

 

Draco’s relaxed smile froze, and Harry had finally caught up on what exactly he had just asked.

 

“No, wait, I…” He tried desperately to retract but the damage was done. Draco’s expression carefully closed off into an impenetrable mask, all the casualness and playfulness from earlier wiped clean to become a distant politeness that Harry usually associated with politicians.

 

“It is late, Potter. We should both retire.” And with a polite nod, Draco Apparated.

 

Harry watched him leave.


	3. A Support of Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long disappearance! I’m a terrible author, I know, but it seemed that all my plot bunnies had deserted me and I had to hunt them down one by one to get this story on track again! This is actually my third attempt at this chapter. It’s not perfect but definitely a huge improvement compared to my first two tries. And just to warn you all, this will be very very slow burn, depending on how you define it, but the two will spend most of this fic as friends but doing very couple-y things. I will hopefully post the next chapter in two weeks time.
> 
> //////////////////////

Draco felt his head was about to explode. Colours swam in front of his face as he tried to blink away the sudden light that flooded the room, glaring daggers into his skull.

 

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy, what the hell are you doing in my flat?" He heard someone shriek, Pansy probably, as a draft of cold air whooshed past him, making his headache worse.

 

Right. He’s somehow ended up in Pansy’s flat, not that she lives in there all that much, considering how many nights she spent clubbing and rarely bothered to return to her own place afterwards.

 

And he has the king of hangovers. Bloody brilliant. Draco groaned out loud. He dimly registered that he was lying on the ground in front of Pansy’s couch, an empty bottle of her Ogden's finest on the coffee table. That explains the hangover then. He gave up on the idea of trying to get to a sitting position and just slanted his arm over his eyes to block out the world at large.

 

"Tell me you have Hangover Potion," His voice came out scratchy and gravelly, the effort needed for speech almost not worth the bother.

 

"I have Hangover Potion," came the slightly disdainful voice of Pansy Parkinson, coming closer now, "which you won't get if you don’t explain right this instant how you ended up breaking into my flat and getting trashed on my living room floor last night instead of in the company of a certain gorgeous Gryffindor. _And stealing my Ogden’s collection to boot._ ” Her voice became shrill again at that, probably noticing the empty bottle. “Such behavior is very unbecoming of the Malfoy heir." Pansy sniffed, followed by a clinking sound as she was no doubt checking to see if there was any Firewhisky left for her to salvage.

 

He grumbled something which he hoped sounded like "Fuck Malfoy heir", then yelped as his best friend physically hulled him up from the ground to a sitting position on the couch. That witch was downright vicious, and has the patience of Snape to boot.

 

"I heard that." Pansy snapped back, which made Draco blink open his eyes in surprise. Well, he didn't mean to say that out loud.

 

Pansy sighed in exasperation. "Draco, I love you dearly but your brain-to-mouth filter is appalling when you are drunk, makes me wonder why no one's tried to take advantage of that yet.”

 

"Not drunk. Hangover." And now he also feels like throwing up after the earlier exertion. He could almost feel Pansy roll her eyes as she stuffed a bottle of potion into his hands, which he took gratefully and downed in one go.

 

"Ugh." He's never going to get used to the taste no matter how many times he drank it, which is not that often actually, but the point still stands. "Whoever invented this is a contorted bastard."

 

"Or just someone who wanted to teach a lesson to drunk people."

 

He snorted. Pansy drank the thing much often than he did. "You are one to say."

 

There was a silence as he took a moment to allow the potion to do its work and purge away all the awful symptoms and any leftover alcohol in his system. Next thing he knew, Pansy was yelling at him to go wash himself up as he looked like death warmed over. He didn't complain. He wasn't sure if he looked like it, but he definitely felt like it.

 

It was good as it gave him time to fully wake up and gather his thoughts...on what happened the day before. Or rather evening, to be more precise. Thinking about last night made him hope he was still happily having his hangover and oblivious to the fool he no doubt made of himself. What had he been thinking?! Or not thinking, he mused.

 

He felt like he just had more emotional turmoil over the past few weeks than in his whole life before, and this new turn of events felt so ridiculous that it just made him on the verge of being hysterical. He'd been sending such mixed signals last night that it was no wonder Potter got confused. Fucks sake, he'd flirted like a slut!

 

Well, how were you supposed to react when your school nemesis turned avid admirer told you that you look delicious?!

 

He wanted to drown in the shower.

 

//////////

 

Finally feeling refreshed and comfortable in a fluffy dressing gown he nicked from the bathroom, he sauntered into the living room, ready to take whatever dressing down Pansy was planning to throw at him. As the young Malfoy heir, that Pansy so kindly pointed out earlier, he never took criticism well, but this was Pansy, whom he probably knew since they were both still wearing nappies. They have done much worse to each other before.

 

Pansy Parkinson was a formidable witch. Sure, she's sharp, cunning and highly ambitious, but what made her stood out the most was her tenacity and fierceness that can give any good Gryffindor a run for their galleons. And once you became her friend, she would fight to the teeth for you, which was probably why Slytherins tend to have so few friends, compared to the number of their acquaintances.

 

Pansy raised an eyebrow at his appearance but he just shrugged. They were far too close for formalities like this. He sank down into the couch with a huff of breath, mentally preparing himself for the interrogation that was no doubt going to come.

 

“What did you do this time?” Pansy stated very matter-of-factly.

 

Draco immediately felt indignant. “What do you mean what did I do this time? I didn’t do anything, it was Potter’s fault!” He then winced at how that made him sound like bickering school children whining “he started it!”

 

“Oh please, you only drink yourself stupid when you feel guilty and wallow in self-misery. So what was it this time? I hardly think Harry would purposefully antagonize you, given that the poor soul was smitten with you and worshipped the ground you walk on.”

 

He snorted. More like everyone else worshipped the ground the Golden Boy walked on. “Well, he very deliberately insulted my seeker abilities, _multiple times_.”

 

Now it was Pansy’s turn to snort. “You never stood a chance against him anyway.”

 

“Hey! You were supposed to be on my side!”

 

Pansy just rolled her eyes, then sat up a little straighter and fixed him with _that look_ , her expression becoming serious. “Stop changing the subject Draco, what really upset you?”

 

“I…” Draco was about to keep on arguing but stopped at the look on her face. She looked genuinely worried and Pansy was never worried. He sighed and sat back, scrubbing at his face, not even sure where to start. He wanted to say that he hated his father for forcing him to choose between Theo and his heritage and everything else that his life stood for, that he hated Potter for meddling in his life once again. He wanted to explain what had happened the night before, how he behaved poorly and how Potter messed up the wonderful evening with a single sentence.

 

“I miss Theo.” It came out was a whispered statement and it seemed that in the end, everything had condensed to this.

 

Pansy looked at him for a long moment, then her face softened, “Oh come here, you poor baby.”

She dragged him forward into a warm embrace and he did not resist.

 

//////////

 

“Ronald Weasley. Harry does not need any more to drink!” Hermione plucked the glass from her husband’s hand, who looked guilty to have been caught trying to sneak his best mate a glass of Firewhisky.

 

The Golden Trio, as the other Gryffindors had often joked ever since Harry was labeled as the Ministry’s Golden Boy, now sat in front of the Weasley’s fireplace, where Harry was currently draped over an armchair, content to let his best friends’ bickering wash over him.

 

“But ‘Mione, it’s been what, three days and that ferret’s still not replying to any of Harry’s messages!”

 

“Don’t call him that!”

 

Harry can almost feel Hermione giving him a tentative look, as if afraid that statement would upset him further. He appreciated the gesture but he hated being treated like as if he was going to break apart at any moment. Ever since Ron had dragged him out of that hell hole, prying his fingers off the dead Seer’s body, they had been cautious around him, as if waiting for his screaming tantrum to come. It never did.

 

He had locked himself in his room for three days, his mind going over the prophecy again and again, thinking about the choked words interspersed with a barrage of confusing images the Seer had sent into his mind. Hermione had been very worried about his mental wellbeing at first, insisting on him seeing a mind healer, which he absolutely refused, until a full week had passed and Harry was still “sulking about a load of tripe that an old fraud like Trelawney had sprouted to mystify the public!” and she and Ron had had such a vehement screaming match which even Harry can no longer ignore.

 

He had been broken out of his stupor somewhat after that, and tried his best at putting on an unworried face, but deep down, he had believed every single one of the Seer’s words. It wasn’t that he was a devoted believer of Divination, on the contrary, he had despised Trelawney as much as Hermione did, but this time it had been different. This one was a true Seer. It was in the way the magic had changed when she gave her dying prophecy. Ron had felt it, too.

 

Words could lie but magic couldn’t. Hermione had just huffed at that, declaring them both to be stubborn idiots, but still went to do some research, “just for Harry’s peace of mind, of course.” Apparently Kingsley disagreed with her opinion and had put Harry on forced leave, taking the threat very seriously. The prophecy was not made public knowledge of course, as they do not need more panic from the Prophet business and Harry valued his privacy.

 

Harry had then spent the days holed up in his rooms going through that ultimate question people always ask themselves. If you were given a day to live, what would you do? And he was lucky, in some regards, he guessed, that instead of just one single day, he was given three months.

 

Thing went on like that for another week or so, until one day a very flustered Pansy Parkinson had just appeared through the Floo, even though Harry had blocked and warded it, demanded to see Hermione, who had came around to accompany Harry that day, and started chattering very animatedly as if Harry didn’t even exist. He would have left them to it, as he was getting tired of Hermione’s worried glances, but one particular name had stopped him dead in his tracks. They were talking about Draco, and Harry felt his world still. Then everything had just simply _clicked_ inside of him. Draco was in trouble, and this time, he knew exactly how he could help.

 

“Harry! Are you even listening to me?” Hermione gave an exasperated sigh.

 

That broke his reverie and he grinned at his friend sheepishly.

 

“Well, as I was saying…”

 

Whatever she was saying wasn’t important any more as all three heads whipped around to face the window to see a regal-looking eagle owl pecking at the glass impatiently.

 

Harry vaguely heard Ron saying something along the lines of “that pretentious git and his pretentious owl” and Hermione hissing at him to be quiet, but his attention was solely fixed on the owl before him. He quickly unwrapped the message tied to the magnificent bird’s leg, absently offering the owl a biscuit from the table, which the bird took with a disdainful air before flying out the window.

 

As he read the message, his face paled, and he looked up at his friends beseechingly. “Draco’s meeting me for tea at three, _which is in two hours_.” He felt panic begin to settle in. “God, what should I wear?”

 

He must have looked so pathetic that Ron outright laughed at him, while Hermione just shook her head, a tired but fond smile forming at the corner of her lips.

 


End file.
